remember what you're staring at is me
by xIrelandx
Summary: On the fifteenth anniversary of Claire's death, Hershel Layton receives a surprise visitor.


It was the fifteen-year anniversary. Hershel hadn't allowed himself to grieve, not really. Just thinking about it... Well, there was a reason he hadn't really told anybody. Even after the event with Clive and Dimitri and that terrible robot, he couldn't really handle telling Luke or Flora. Luke had questions, as he always did, but Layton couldn't answer them. Flora had more sense than to ask, and she'd managed to redirect Luke every time he got close to asking.

That made Layton feel a little bad as well. Flora was much smarter than he tended to give her credit for.

Today they were going to let Clive visit, under strict supervision of Detective Chief Inspector Grosky himself. It would have been nice to see his old friend again, had the circumstances been different. But today being what it was, he didn't think he could stand to dredge up extra memories of heartbreak - thinking of Emmy, of Bronev, of Randall, of Desmond...

Ah, speak of the devil. He hadn't felt that sensation in quite a while, the knowledge that he was being watched. It was foreign and unwelcome at first, but after a while it was...customary. Something he had begun to expect, anticipate, and almost enjoy. He welcomed challenges - usually.

But not today. "Whatever you're here for, Descole, I'm in no mood." The presence behind him wasn't moving, and it was taking all of Layton's strength not to turn and look behind him. "Must I say it again, more clearly? Please leave, Jean."

The feeling, the aura, whatever it was - it changed slightly. Layton opted to sit on his knees, hoping Descole would take the defeated stance as a final sign, if nothing else, to leave him alone.

"I'm not here to fight with you, Hershel." How long had it been - three years? eight? since he'd last heard that voice. Normally so deep and dramatic - well, it had plenty of the former, still, but it was much quieter than usual.

"Then what have you come for? I have no puzzles, no treasures, not even an apprentice for you to kidnap." That last part came out harsher than he had intended, and he sensed Descole flinch behind him. As Desmond he had become a part of their group. As Desmond, he had come to care for Luke as much as Layton did. But to add to those memories, remember what he'd lost and lost again... All he wanted was for his former rival to leave.

The ground next to him shifted slightly. He could feel a brief contact - Descole, resting his hand on Hershel's shoulder. He always expected his hands to feel cold, clinical, the way he always thought of engineers in their dank basements. Somehow it was a surprise to Layton, that his hand was firm but still warm and comforting. He had to bite back his lip, hiding the tears.

Descole didn't answer his question. "It's been fifteen years, yes?" Layton nodded, though he couldn't really feel himself doing so. "I saw a picture of her, once. She was beautiful -"

"How long have you been following me?" It was an interruption, but still soft.

Descole was quiet for a moment. "For quite a while," he said simply. "I heard you give a lecture once. It was fascinating. Becoming a professor at such a young age - of course I'd heard about you."

Layton nodded. He had so many other questions he wanted to ask, but it felt was supposed to be grieving Claire, not investigating or interrogating this man who'd followed him around out of what now appeared to be jealousy.

The other man sighed, softly. "There was a reason I tried to keep you from the Azran, you know." Layton finally looked over, his attention caught. "I thought what you'd been through was enough, what Bill Hawks did -"

Hershel tensed under his grip and Jean stopped. This was probably not the best route to go down. He was already unwanted company, there was no need for him to make this invasion worse. Layton's eyes closed, remembering something he didn't really want to. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"Hm?"

"You called the police, after his...men...had me followed and beaten."

It wasn't a question, so Jean didn't answer. All he wanted was confirmation, but he didn't need it. He was one of the most intelligent men Jean Descole had ever met. Heshel Layton was not someone who often needed to be told the answers to puzzles. He was perfectly capable of making and answering his own.

"It never seemed like the right time," he said instead. "To come out from the shadows, I mean. And you're not the only who who has lost." There was a slight pause, and somehow his voice got quieter. "It'll be twenty years, in May."

Layton choked on his own breath, turning his head to bury his face in Descole's - no, that wasn't how he was dressed; Desmond's suit. This must have been what he was expecting, as the man's arms encompassed him smoothly. It wasn't like Layton to cry in public, especially not so loudly as he was now. But there was something comforting about Desmond's warmth and his smell, the soft fabric of his shirt and the way his arms gripped him in a way that felt like he'd never let go that made Hershel feel safe in a way he didn't think he ever had.

"This is what I came for," Desmond finally explained. "To help you heal."


End file.
